No Reward
by Serenity24601
Summary: After Season 12 finale. Sam and Dean talk about all they've lost. Trigger Warning: Talk of suicide.
1. Chapter 1

Crash! The clatter of rubble crumbling to the ground followed the smashing sounds that echoed through the bunker. Sam scurried down the stairs and coughed as he ran into a cloud of cement dust. Waving his hand until the debris cleared, he squinted to see what had caused the crash. The cloud slowly settled, revealing the dust covered profile of his brother holding a large pickaxe.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, tripping down the rest of the stairs. He stared at the hole in the wall which had grown since the grenade hit it. "Dean, what the hell?" he turned to his brother whose chest heaved up and down as he glared at the wall with such force Sam was surprised the hole hadn't grown just from that. "What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Fixing the hole," Dean said as if it were obvious.

"With that?" Sam looked at the pick axe.

"I'm clearing the extra rocks," he answered, still acting as though Sam was the crazy one. Sam blinked at his brother in confusion until he saw the bottle on a ledge not too far away.

"Are you drunk?" he asked. Dean's glance followed his brother's and he shrugged.

"Maybe a little," he said. He looked back at Sam impatiently, waiting for him to leave so he could continue his destruction.

"Give me that," Sam said. He tried to grab the pick axe from Dean but Dean pulled it out of the way, narrowly missing Sam's head. "The hell are you doing?"

"I'm fixing it," Dean said again.

"No," Sam said. Again he made a grab for the pick axe and again Dean pulled it out of the way. "You're making it worse. The whole place could come crashing down on us."

"And?"

Sam stopped reaching for the pick axe. His arm fell to the side as he looked at his brother with drawn eyebrows.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, quietly.

"Nothing," Dean said. He turned away so he didn't have to meet his brother's large sad eyes. "Are you done?"

"Dean," Sam said in a probing voice.

"What?" Dean snapped. He turned to Sam with anger hiding the sadness in his green eyes.

"You don't actually mean that do you?" Sam asked gently. "You don't actually want to…die?" he whispered the last word. Dean grumbled and set the pick axe down, slamming the handle against the wall.

"Maybe," he said shortly. Sam couldn't speak for a second.

"But… you…" the words couldn't form. Tiny tears, like pins, pricked the inside of his eyelids. He swallowed a lump in his throat and stared helplessly at his older brother.

"I what, Sam?" Dean ran a hand over his face and as it dropped the angry façade fell away, replaced by exhaustion and sorrow. "I'm done. I can't keep trying to fix everything." Sam could hear the heavy resignation in his brother's voice.

"But you can't give up now," Sam said.

"And why not?" Dean said, the anger building up again. "We're getting nowhere with finding mom or figuring out what the hell to do with the devil's kid. I can't even fix this damn wall," he gestured at the hole. "I wonder if it would just be easier if I let this whole place crash in on us, if I buried us alive."

"You don't know what you're saying," Sam said, "You're drunk."

"I'm sober enough," Dean said, with clear eyes.

"But you can't just die," Sam shook his head. "We need you. I need you."

"That's exactly my point," Dean waved his hand around, "God gave me a mission. Saving the world. But what has that ever gotten us? What reward does saving people bring? Mom's gone. Cas is dead. I mean, how many friends have we lost to this gig? Hell, we don't even get paid. So why do we keep going?" He looked at Sam as if very interested in knowing the answer to his question. Shocked and hurt, Sam blinked back hot tears that filled his eyelids and threatened to spill over.

"Because we have to," Sam answered.

"Well I'm done," Dean said. "I give up." He threw his hands in the air in surrender. Sam flinched a little.

"And what about me?" He asked, hoarsely.

"What about you?" Dean snarled. "You want me to pick you up outta the dirt again." Sam's eyebrows drew together over his tear filled eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whispered.

"Nothing," Dean waved it off.

"No," Sam's voice grew as did his anger. "Dean tell me. What's that supposed to mean?" He clenched his teeth in his fight against his tears.

"It means I'm tired," Dean snapped. "Tired of cleaning up everyone's messes. Let them clean up their own mess."

"My mess?"

"Whoever's," Dean waved his hand again and turned away. "Forget it," he headed towards the stairs, leaving Sam staring at the wall in hurt silence. "I'm gonna go get drunk and then maybe drive off a cliff or something."

"Dean," Sam turned to his brother.

"Fine," Dean mumbled, "I won't drive off a cliff." He disappeared up the stairs. Sam leaned on the wall next to the large hole and slid down to the floor. He looked up at the ceiling and swallowed a dry, hot lump in his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where is our reward?"

"Hello, Sam," the voice was soft and small, nothing like you would expect from a god. Sam lifted his head and jumped to his feet when he recognized the man standing next to him. He towered over the short man and yet seemed almost afraid and in awe of him.

"Chuck," he said in surprise. "I-I mean God. What are you doing here?"

"First of all it's just Chuck," he reminded Sam, "And second of all, I'm not actually here. Or not here here. You're dreaming." He gestured to the wall. Sam looked down to see himself, still leaning against the wall next to the hole, sleeping.

"This is a vision?" He looked back at Chuck.

"Well," Chuck waved his finger, "Not technically. According to you guys, a vision is some sort of message I send to help you in the long run. This is more just a dream chat." He shrugged and smiled.

"A chat?" Sam asked, not sure whether to feel angry or confused.

"Yeah, Sam," Chuck said, "Just wanted to check in with you and Dean. Still dealing with Lucifer, are we?"

"What?" Sam said, the anger in him winning out against his confusion.

"So what's new with you, Sam?" Chuck asked. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms as if they were two friends having a conversation. As if real Sam hadn't been sleeping right next to the feet of dream Sam. As if Sam wasn't standing there with clenched fists and angry breaths heaving his chest up and down. "I mean," Chuck shrugged, "I know what's new but…" He smiled at Sam.

"You know?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Chuck laughed, "I mean I am God. I do see everything."

"Where were you?" Sam asked shortly. He stood shaking his head and glaring at the shorter man.

"Well you know," Chuck shrugged as if he didn't sense Sam's anger. But his glance at Sam's clenched fists said otherwise. "A little bit of everywhere, a little bit of nowhere."

"You're kidding, right?" The dry irony in Sam's tone made his anger almost scarier. "That's it. You're not even going to apologize for abandoning us?"

"I didn't abandon you," Chuck pointed out, still calm despite the rising anger apparent on Sam's face. "I left this world in the very capable hands of you and your brother."

"You don't think that's abandonment?" Sam asked. "You left us to clean up your mess. You couldn't even once show your damn face to help us."

"I can't come down every time one of you skins your knee," Chuck argued.

"No," Sam lifted a finger and pointed it threateningly at Chuck. "No this wasn't just a scraped knee. This was Lucifer. This was next level, almost another apocalypse crap."

"I'm not the one who popped his cage back open," Chuck pointed out.

"But you are his father," Sam said. "He's still your responsibility. But you were off who knows where doing who knows what."

"Look," Chuck straightened, "I took care of the Darkness for you." Sam shook his head and chuckled bitterly.

"Wrong again," he said, "We took care of the Darkness. You were just in the right place at the right time to finish it off."

"Sam," Chuck shook his head, his voice once again small and calm, "I didn't abandon this world. I gave it the best thing it could have. I gave it you. You and your brother have saved this planet so many times."

"And what about us?" Sam asked.

"What about you?" Chuck looked confused.

"What do we get out of all this? What's our reward? Because it feels to me like every time we finally get something good it gets taken right out from under us again."

"What do you want me to do?" Chuck asked. "You want me to bring Castiel back just so you can get him killed again? I didn't come here to be yelled at Sam."

"Then you shouldn't have come," Sam muttered. He turned away, hoping that when he turned back Chuck would be gone. Chuck only sighed.

"I did give you a reward, Sam," Chuck said. "I gave you each other." Sam turned and looked back at Chuck with fire still in his eyes. "I could've only made one of you to do it. But I gave you someone to always be by your side. You should be thanking me for that."

"It's not enough," Sam said. "You could've helped us."

"But I didn't," Chuck said. "And now it's time for you to get back to bed and think about what I have done for you, Sam. I gave you a brother, I gave you a family," his voice took on a threatening tone, "And I can just as easily take it away." The two men glared at each other for a moment; Sam daring him to make good on his promise, Chuck daring Sam to question his authority. Finally, Sam's defiant shoulders drooped a little.

"You could at least bring them back," he pleaded hopefully. Chuck shook his head and sighed.

"Goodnight, Sam." Sam gasped and his eyes flew open. He looked around the empty room. He shook his head.

"Damn you," he muttered and ran a hand over his exhausted face.


End file.
